


Ever After

by musicalkiddo



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, also slight alcohol tw for parts, and the hanschen/ernst relationship is more than just talked about, hence the rating lol, it has nothing to do with fairy tales- the title is just a bare lyric lol, the melchior/hanschen relationship is mostly just talked about but it's definitely there, this has like angst and fluff and smut in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalkiddo/pseuds/musicalkiddo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hanschen and Ernst have been broken up for two years before they run into each other in Ernst's favorite bakery, where he receives some shocking news about Hanschen's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever After

  
  


Ernst had won custody of Sugar Sweet in the divorce. Not that he and Hanschen had ever been married, and not that they'd ever drawn up official paperwork, but both men knew the bakery was Ernst’s territory.  He'd been eating pastries from Sugar Sweet since high school, for years before he met Hanschen, and even though the smell of melting chocolate and baking dough sometimes reminded him of their first date and broke his heart, he had no intention of giving up his fix.  He’d been blessed with good metabolism, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to use it to his advantage until the day he died.

He was there for his morning pick me up on an unseasonably warm Tuesday, chatting with Wendla behind the counter like always. The croissants had just come out of the oven, and he watched them steam hungrily, eager to sink his teeth into one.  He heard the bells on the door jingle.  It was surprising, since usually he was the only one who dared to eat baked goods so early in the morning, but he was too busy drooling to turn around.  Until he saw Wendla’s eyes widen.

“Hanschen!” she greeted.  Ernst stiffened. He didn't feel hungry any more. “It's been a long time.”

Ernst looked at her, eyes pleading for her to send his ex away. Say they were closed, or sold out, or anything that would get him to leave without noticing-

“Ernst.  Hi.”

Ernst turned around.  Hanschen looked as good as ever, maybe even better.  He'd obviously been working out a lot, and his hair had grown since Ernst had seen him, leaving it perfectly messy. Of course it had grown.  They hadn't had any contact in nearly two years.  Before Ernst’s mouth could betray him and say any of these things, a timer rang in the kitchen.

“The banana bread,” Wendla apologized. “I have to go.”

“Wendla!” Ernst begged, but she was already through the swinging door.  Hanschen walked closer to Ernst, who kinda wanted to die.  “What are you doing here?” he asked, forgoing a greeting.

Hanschen pondered this question for a second, and Ernst panicked, wondering how the reasoning behind a bakery trip could be complicated enough to warrant this much thought. Maybe Hanschen didn't know his new address and needed to find him because he was dying of some illness and they had the same blood type. Or maybe he wanted to confess his undying love and apologize for the way things ended between them.  Or he was still mad and wanted to tell Ernst again how toxic their relationship was, just for old time's sake.

But what the gorgeous blonde actually said hurt far more than anything Ernst could have dreamed up.

“My fiance is craving coconut squares, and I didn't know where else to get them.”

“Your… what?” Ernst was certain he'd heard wrong. They'd only been broken up for two years, not even as long as they'd dated. And now Hanschen, _his_ Hanschen, was engaged? To someone else? He dug his fingernail into his palm to keep from crying.

“My fiance,” Hanschen repeated, softly.

“You're engaged?”  Ernst could count on one hand the number of dates he'd been on since they'd broken up. And Hanschen was getting married? A million possibilities ran through Ernst's head. Anna? Bobby? Ilse? Or, the most horrifying of all, someone Ernst didn't even know.  Had they been apart long enough for Hanschen to have an entire new life?

“Yeah, I am. Melchior popped the question last month.” He looked like he was trying not to smile too hard, for Ernst's sake. Like he felt guilty about how happy he was.

“Melchior?” Hanschen nodded. “Gabor?” Hanschen nodded again, a minute jerk of his head that made Ernst dizzy.  He leaned back against the counter, suddenly afraid he'd pass out.

“I thought you and Melchior hate each other. You always used to fight.” Ernst tried to sound casual, but he was sure he failed. He hoped Hanschen wouldn't bring up that the two of them always used to fight too.

“He was there for me after stuff with us ended, when everyone else we knew took your side.  And he's smart, and funny, and he doesn't have ridiculously high expectations of me.”  It was a low blow, and Ernst could feel a lump in his throat.  Where the hell was Wendla?

“I didn't realize the desire for honesty and trust was ridiculous.” He didn't mean to say it. It was the same fight they had every night for the last month of their relationship.  They were over now, there was no need to have the same argument.

“Look, do you know when Wendla’s coming back? I'm hoping to surprise Melchior when he wakes up.”

“Well he certainly sleeps late,” Ernst observed, checking his watch. He knew he sounded bitter, but he was bitter.  And he had the right to be.  Hanschen was his first real love, and he’d wanted nothing more than for them to work out.  All he’d asked was that Hanschen was honest with him, and respectful.  That he didn’t stay out at night without texting.  That he asked Ernst before making plans for him.  That he stopped flirting with other people.

They dated for four years, and then Hanschen came home drunk and he wouldn’t listen, and Ernst yelled and yelled, and Hanschen left.  Ernst didn’t know where he went.  Now, two years later, he realized smart money said he was at Melchior’s place.  He wanted to throw up.  It felt just like it felt when Hanschen returned the next morning, hungover and angry and full of hurtful things to say.  Like how Ernst was too clingy, and paranoid, and controlling.  Like how their relationship was toxic.  Like he wanted out, like he was packing his shit.  Like they shouldn’t ever see each other again.

If Ernst had known seeing each other again would happen under these circumstances, he would have agreed.  But he fought back until Hanschen left without any of his boxes, too angry to stay for even a second longer.

Ernst gripped the edge of the counter.  He could hear Wendla banging dishes in the kitchen.  Hanschen was looking at him like one looks at a bird with a broken wing.  With pity and concern, and something else Ernst couldn’t place.

“Look, Ernst… I know this is weird, okay?  I’m not going to pretend it’s not.  But you and I were a long time ago, and we were young, and Melchior is good for me.”

“Well… I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Do you want to catch up?” Hanschen asked.  “Your breakfast is on me.”

“I don’t know if we should…”

“Come on, Ernst.  Let’s talk.”

As always, Ernst was unable to resist the blonde’s eyes.  “Okay.”

Wendla poked her head through the door.  “Is it safe to come out?”

“Hi, Wendla.”

She walked around the counter and hugged Hanschen quickly, awkwardly.

“How have you been?” Hanschen asked.

“Um… I’ve been good.”  She looked at Ernst, as if asking for permission, or advice.  “Can I get you something?”

“Two coconut squares to go, and…” he looked at Ernst.

“Two chocolate croissants,” Ernst finished.  “For here.”

Wendla raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything, grabbing a pair of tongs and packing up the coconut squares.  She then put the croissants, still warm, on a floral patterned plate and handed it to Ernst while Hanschen dug into his wallet and handed her a twenty.  Ernst picked a sunny table in the corner while Wendla counted out Hanschen’s change.  A few customers had entered the bakery during the transaction, and Ernst wanted as much privacy as he could get.  He had no idea what was about to happen.

Hanschen came over to join him, and the sunlight made his hair shine.  Ernst took a deep breath.

“You still order the same thing,” Hanschen said gently, sitting down.  He seemed cautious, stiff.  Ernst couldn’t believe he was making Hanschen Rilow nervous.  Hanschen Rilow, who he’d stared at in class and all over campus, who he’d gotten the nerve to ask out only after a few drinks at a party, who he’d approached with shaking hands, who used to take his breath away on a nightly basis.

“Time doesn’t ruin everything.” He grabbed a pastry and bit into it.

“Touche.”  Hanschen paused, and then laughed.  “So.  How are you?”  He picked up his own breakfast.

Lonely?  Stuck?  A little heart-broken, still?  “I’m okay.  I’ve been pretty busy.”

“Oh yeah?” he raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah.  Like, okay, so there’s this gallery down town and they had one of my pieces up, and now they want to do a whole show of my stuff.  So I’m mostly working on that.”

“Can I confess something?”

“Go for it.”  Ernst tried not to prepare himself to hear that Hanschen was still in love with him, but he did anyway.

“I know.”

“What?”

“I was at that gallery a few weeks ago, and I noticed your piece almost immediately.  I recognized it, I guess.  You’ve improved.  Not that you weren’t great before!  You’ve just… improved.”

Ernst wondered if Hanschen recognized the golds in the painting.  The same shades he used to use to highlight his boyfriend’s hair, now making up the starstuff.  “Oh, wow.  Thank you.”

“When does your show go up?”

“January.”

“Maybe I’ll come out and see it.”

“With Melchior?” he couldn’t help himself.  He had to remember what was important.  He didn’t want to fall again.

“I know it might not make sense to you, but there’s a lot there.  Between us.”

“Is he knocked up?”

Hanschen laughed, and Ernst remembered how much he loved to make Hanschen laugh.

“We’re a good fit.  A couple of unloveable cynics.”

“That sounds like it would make a better sitcom than a relationship.”

“Ernst…”

“Okay, I’m sorry.  Sorry.”  The bakery was filling up.  “What else has been going on with you?”

“Just work, all the time.  Wall Street waits for nobody.”  Ernst nodded sympathetically.  Hanschen put the last bite of his croissant into his mouth and looked at Ernst like he did before, weird.  With something behind his eyes.  “Speaking of which, I should get going.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

Hanschen stood up, and then sat back down.  “Is your number the same?”

“No.”

Hanschen looked a little put off by the response, but didn’t let it faze him.  “Can I get it?”

“You’re asking me for my number?”

“Yeah.  Is that… should I just leave?”

“Here.”  Ernst held out his hand, and Hanschen fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it over.  Ernst tried to ignore that it required no passcode.  He tried to ignore that the background was a picture of Hanschen and Melchior on a beach somewhere.  He tried to ignore that Hanschen had five unread texts from “Melchior <3 Gabor.”  He put his number in and handed the phone back.

“Okay,” Hanschen looked down at his phone and squeezed it in his hand a little.  “Thanks.  I’ll, um, see you around.”

“See you,” Ernst responded, but his ex was already on his way out, box of coconut squares in hand.

Sitting alone with half a croissant, Ernst could see Wendla dying to come interrogate him.  She was busy though, hands full with a customer who kept asking to _sample_ the baked goods, as though Wendla could discreetly slip him a crumb of a cookie or something.

He stood up and motioned to the door, rolling his eyes when Wendla made a pouty face from across the bakery.  He felt bad about leaving his breakfast uneaten, so he took it with him, peeling off little pieces to nibble on as he left, walking slowly.

As he walked home, Ernst could help thinking, or probably over-thinking, about Hanschen.  Surely it meant something, that they reunited like that.  That Hanschen bought him breakfast and wanted his phone number.  He couldn’t stop seeing the picture of Hanschen and Melchi in his head.  Had they asked a stranger to take it?  Did they go to the beach with a whole bunch of friends?  Had Hanschen conquered his dislike of group outings?  He looked so fucking happy.  His hair was messed up (from the wind?  Melchior’s hands? a combination?) and he didn’t even care, didn’t look concerned or irritated or anything.  Just happy.

Ernst tried to tell himself that the reason Hanschen seemed to be able to finally let go of himself had to do with time.  They’d been apart for a long time, even if it didn’t seem like it.  There was no way he’d been the one holding Hanschen back all those years, no way Melchior was a better boyfriend than he’d been.  Not boyfriend.  Fiance.

Ernst tossed his croissant in the trash because he was starting to feel like throwing up.  Besides, he didn’t really want anything Hanschen Rilow bought him.

When he got home, Ernst threw himself into a painting, pretending to be surprised with himself when the golds were mixed with deep, angry reds.  So what if he was angry?  Hanschen had broken his heart.  And now he expected to waltz back into his life and… what?  Buy him pastries?  It was unacceptable.

Except it wasn’t a waltz.  It was more like a stroll, or a crawl.  Slow and torturous.  Ernst hadn’t bothered to get Hanschen’s number, so he was stuck waiting for the aloof blonde to make the first move.  And wait he did.

It was almost two weeks of Ernst holed up with his paintbrushes and takeout food, with occasional visits from Wendla to keep him sane, before his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

**can I call u?**

**hang on! im calling u!**

**it’s h anscneh :)**

All three messages came through before Ernst could respond to one, and then his phone started ringing.  He answered it.

“Hanschen?”

“Yes sir!”

“Um, hey.  What’s up?”

“I am not sober.”

“I kind of figured,” Ernst laughed.  He knew Hanschen, he was a perfect sampler of all the drunk stereotypes.  The fact that he was this loopy meant he’d already been angry.  If he didn’t fall asleep soon, emotional would come next.

“I drank alcohol.”

“Yeah, probably lots of it.”

“You are very smart.”  Hanschen hiccuped.

“Thanks.”  There was no answer.  “Hanschen?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you call me?”

“Oh! Yeah!  Okay, so here’s the thing.  You are an artist.”  He waited for confirmation, so Ernst made a humming noise of agreement.  “Melchior is on a business trip.  No!  Melchior is on a lawyer retreat.  It’s a retreat for lawyers.”

“That sounds awful.”

“They’re in Florida.”

“Thrilling.”

“Melchior is not home and I broke a lamp and I need you to come glue it back together.”

“Are you sure I’m the man for the job?  Isn’t there someone else you can call?”  He wanted to see Hanschen, but not like this.  He was familiar with drunk Hanschen, and he didn’t need the pain that was sure to come from any interaction.

“It has to be you!  You have to come over.”

“Hanschen… I have a lot to get done tonight, I don’t know if this is-”

“What do you have to do?” Hanschen interrupted.

“Um…”

“Perfect! I will text you my address.  Ciao!”  He hung up before Ernst could say anything.

When his phone buzzed with the address, Ernst considered not going.  Pretending the text never came through, or he had a medical emergency and couldn’t make it, or his own loving boyfriend came home and swept him off his feet…  His phone buzzed again.

**cant wait 2 see u!! ;)**

Ernst, weak and hopeful, grabbed his keys on the way out, cursing the entire night.

When he knocked on the door and nobody responded, Ernst was nervous a highly intoxicated Hanschen had given him the wrong address.  He knocked again, a little harder, and heard something crash inside.

“Shit!” he heard Hanschen exclaim.

“Hanschen?”

The door was yanked open to reveal Hanschen, holding a mini vacuum and looking disheveled.  “There was a cockroach,” he moaned, forgoing a greeting and letting Ernst step inside.

“Ew.  Did you get it?”

Hanschen shook the vacuum triumphantly.

“Congratulations.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“What?”

“You’re mad that I made you come over here and it’s night and I killed a cockroach and you’re a vegetarian.”

“I’m not, actually.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No.  I mean, yes.  I mean, I’m not mad.  But also I’m not a vegetarian.”

“Then how come we could never go out for steak?” Hanschen moved to the couch and sat down, putting the vacuum in his lap and looking up at Ernst.

Ernst followed Hanschen and sat next to him, leaving a safe distance between their legs.  “I used to be a vegetarian, but I quit a few months ago.”

“Oh.”

“Look, Hanschen, don’t you have a lamp you want me to look at?”

He didn’t get an answer.  Hanschen just asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“But you can eat bacon now!  You have to have bacon!”

“I’ve had bacon, Hanschen.  It’s been months.”

“I didn’t know that.” Hanschen pulled his knees up to his chest, moving the vacuum to the floor.

“It’s fine, okay?  Don’t worry about it.  Where’s the lamp?”

“It’s broken.”

“I know.  That’s why I’m here.” It was hard not to feel like he was talking to a child.

“I was looking for a pen, and I broke it.  Melchior doesn’t even know that it’s broken, but I broke it.”

There was that aching in Ernst’s chest again at the mention of Melchior’s name.  “So let’s fix it.  Where is it, exactly?”

Hanschen pointed dramatically.  “Bedroom.”

Ernst took a deep breath and stood up.  Hanschen expected him to go into the bedroom he shared with Melchior Gabor, his currently absent fiance, and fix a lamp he broke in a drunken and probably angry attempt to find a pen.  Perfect.

“Let’s go,” he prompted, nudging Hanschen with his knee.  Hanschen laughed a little and stood up, following Ernst into the dark bedroom.  He turned on the light.

“It’s there,” Hanschen said, gesturing towards the nightstand and flopping onto the bed, laying on his stomach.

Ernst walked over to examine the lamp, trying to ignore Hanschen’s dramatic pose.  “This isn’t broken, Hanschen.”

“Yes it is.”

“The lampshade fell off.”

“Aren’t you gonna fix it?”

It felt like a trap, but Ernst picked up the cream colored lampshade and fastened it back on the bare bulb.  “Better?” he asked, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.  He tried not to imagine what Hanschen was usually doing in this room, on this bed, the times when he wasn’t drunk and with his ex boyfriend… His attempts were counterproductive.  Being with Hanschen for so long gave him acute knowledge of exactly how he liked to be touched, exactly how he liked to touch himself, and touch others…

“Yeah,” Hanschen said.  “That’s good.”

Ernst inhaled sharply and tried to think of literally anything else, to focus on anything but the way Hanschen’s worn out t-shirt was riding up and revealing his stomach and the little patch of hair leading down to something with which Ernst had once been intimately close.

He stood quickly.  “Well, I guess I should go.  I’m glad we could get this lamp thing sorted out.”

“Wait!” Hanschen grabbed the back of Ernst’s sweatshirt, pulling him back onto the bed.  “What if I told you I didn’t really break the lamp?”

“I know you didn’t really break the lamp, Hanschen.  I literally just put the shade back on.”

“What if I told you I knew it wasn’t really broken?”

“I’d be confused.  Why am I here, Hanschen?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“We could have like… made dinner plans.  Or gone to a movie or something.”

“I didn’t want to do that.”

“I don’t understand.”  Ernst couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol making Hanschen so confusing, or if he just had no idea how to read the guy, still sprawled on the bed, now propped up on one elbow and looking up at him.

“I wanted you here, Ernst.  And I was afraid you wouldn’t come if I just invited you.  Because I know I didn’t always treat you right.”

“You broke up with me.”

“Right!  That’s what I mean.  And I could have been better for you.  But I wasn’t, so I didn’t think you’d care that ever since I ran into you I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Hanschen…” Ernst warned.

“Just listen to me.”  Hanschen shifted around a little, moving his head closer to Ernst’s thigh.  “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“You already said that,” Ernst breathed.

Hanschen sat up so he and Ernst were face to face.  “Remember how you used to take care of me?  Like when I was sick and stuff?”

“Yeah.”  Ernst was fighting the urge to move a piece of hair off Hanschen’s forehead.  This wasn’t fair.  He looked so beautiful, face flushed from the booze, wearing casual clothes that fit just right.  And Ernst couldn’t touch him.  Couldn’t take him in his arms and kiss the weird and confusing smile off his face until he begged for something more.

“This kinda feels like that, huh?  Melchi doesn’t take care of me like that.  He has so much going on.  He loves me, but he just isn’t wired like that.  But you do, even now.  Even after everything.”  He put a hand on Ernst’s thigh.

Ernst looked down at the wide hand, touching him gently but with a little bit of urgency.  Like it wasn’t about to let go.  “Was this a test?” he asked.

He was so busy looking down that he didn’t notice Hanschen leaning closer until he could feel his ex’s breath on his face, warm and smelling strongly of vodka.  He tilted his head up slowly, meeting Hanschen’s eyes.

“You passed,” Hanschen murmured, leaning forward to bring his lips to Ernst’s.

Ernst kissed him back, judgement melted by the feeling of his favorite mouth in the world devouring his own.  Nobody else in the world could do what Hanschen could with his mouth, could make Ernst feel so damn good with just a tongue and a pair of lips.

They were kissing like they were making up for lost time.  Two years of sadness and anger and separation connecting their lips like never before.

And then Ernst heard Hanschen’s phone ding with a text notification, and he pulled away.

He was breathing heavy, and Hanschen looked so good, lips parted, face even more flushed than before, hair messy from where Ernst had shoved his hands into it.

“You’re engaged,” Ernst reminded him, closing his eyes again as Hanschen traced his lips with a gentle finger, feeling his cool skin against his warm face.

“He’s in Florida.”  Hanschen tried to kiss Ernst again.

“I can’t be the person you cheat on someone with.  Even if that someone is Melchior, okay, I just can’t do it.”

“He won’t find out, Ernst.  I’ll still marry him, that doesn’t have to change.  I just want you so badly.”  His hands fumbled at the zipper of Ernst’s sweatshirt.  “Let me just have you one last time.”

Ernst pushed Hanschen off him, and he landed on his back with a bounce, looking up at the ceiling.

“I wanted to be able to trust you, Hanschen.  Before we broke up, I just wanted you to be honest with me.  And you’re still not capable of that.  You can’t commit to anyone or make anyone truly happy, do you realize that?  I was not the toxic one.  You are not a good person, and I refuse to be the reason your relationship falls apart.  Let Melchior deal with your shit, it’s not my problem anymore.  You aren’t my problem anymore.”

Hanschen had sat up while Ernst yelled at him, and he looked pained.  “Ernst…”

“Don’t even bother, okay?  I’m going home.  And drink some fucking water, you’re wasted.”

Hanschen watched Ernst leave without trying to protest, and then put his throbbing head in his hands and listened to the silent apartment.

Ernst did his best to forget about Hanschen.  He took a scalding shower when he got home, washing every trace of the other man’s alcohol and cologne from his skin.  He tried to go to sleep, but he couldn’t stop pressing a hand to his lips, remembering the feel of Hanschen’s mouth.  He didn’t feel tired at all.  He didn’t want to paint, afraid Hanschen would show up on the canvas, and he couldn’t even jerk off, _certain_ that would conjure images of the blonde.  In the end he found himself in bed with his laptop, watching cooking shows on Netflix without blinking until he drifted into restless sleep.

He woke up late the next morning, hungry.  But he worried that a hungover Hanschen would go to Sugar Sweet, looking for either him or some sustenance or both, and he didn’t want to run into him.  So he settled for a bowl of stale cereal, which he ate without tasting.

Ernst sent out a few texts, begging his friends to hang out, to save him from over thinking last night.  Everyone was busy though.  Martha was working on a grad school paper, Wendla had accidentally allowed all her employees to take the day off and was stuck at the bakery, even Georg was in meetings all day and couldn’t come over.

He wanted to paint, but his favorite brush was falling apart and the thought of using another one made him unreasonably sad.  Besides, what he actually wanted was Hanschen.  But he couldn’t have him.  Or he could have him, but he shouldn’t.  Hanschen was engaged, for Christ’s sake.  What kind of person was he that he was actually considering breaking that up for his own sexual gratification?

He refused to admit that his desire to be with his ex was more than physical.  Hanschen had broken his heart, ruined his mental state for months.  It was safer to pretend he was horny and repressed than to admit that maybe he still had feelings for the guy who had hurt him so badly.

Fed up and claustrophobic, Ernst decided to go to the park and take a walk.  He needed to do something, and the autumn leaves were at their peak beauty, maybe he’d get inspired.

He put his headphones in and blasted his favorite playlist, breathing in the crisp fall air and putting one foot in front of the other.  It was a Friday, and park was pretty empty.  Some old people sitting on benches and staring at nothing, a few business casuals eating lunch or talking on the phone.  A couple of twenty somethings making out under trees.  Some assorted dog walkers.

Ernst kept his head down as he walked, keeping an eye out for leaves that might give a satisfying crunch when he stepped on them.  He’d made it almost half a mile when a tennis ball landed at his feet.  He chuckled, pulling one earbud out of his ear and bending over to pick up the slimy green ball, ready to return it to its owner with a smile.  But when he stood upright he was met with a shocking face.

“Hanschen?” He looked at the leash in Hanschen’s hand leading to a golden lab, sitting happily by his side and panting.  “You have a dog?”

Hanschen held out his hand, and Ernst dropped the toy into it, wiping his hand on his jeans.  “She’s Thea’s, actually.  Her name’s Daisy.  I just had to call in sick to work today and I was looking for companionship, and she’s always up for a walk.  Aren’t you girl?” he crooned to the dog, who smiled up at him.  It was embarrassing to admit that he’d skipped work due to a massive hangover from getting stupidly drunk on a Thursday night, but not more embarrassing than the way he’d behaved while drunk.  It was fuzzy, but he remembered Ernst blowing up at him.  And rightfully so, he assumed, unable to remember any details after the kiss.

“Okay.  Well, um, it was nice to see you.  I should probably get going though, I, um…,” Ernst stuttered, incapable of thinking of any excuse.  He took a step away.

“Wait, Ernst.  Can I apologize for last night?”

“You don’t have to.  You were drunk, I get it.  I’ll see you around, okay?”

Hanschen’s canine companion started barking the second Ernst started walking away.

“I think she wants to play with you!” Hanschen called after him.  “She did hit the ball right towards you.  I guess she has good taste.”

Ernst took a deep breath.  Why was he doing this?  He paused his music and shoved his headphones in his pocket while he walked back to Hanschen, and then leaned down to pet the dog.  She was sweet, and it soothed him when she licked his hand with her slimy tongue.

“Just for a minute or two.” He said it to Hanschen, but it also served as a reminder to himself.

“She’s desperate for any attention she can get,” Hanschen chuckled, handing the ball back to Ernst.  He tossed it and Hanschen dropped the leash, letting Daisy run after it.  On the way back with the ball between her teeth, she stopped to sniff at a plant, leaving Hanschen and Ernst standing alone with no buffer between them.

“I shouldn’t have called you,” Hanschen said, not looking at Ernst.  “And I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“But I can’t stop thinking about it, Ernst.  I feel like shit, and I hate myself, and I _am_ in love with Melchior, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”  He wasn’t sure if the part about Melchior was to convince Ernst or himself.

Ernst focused his attention on his hands.  His cuticles were jagged, and there was some green paint under his nails.

“Ernst?” Hanschen prompted.  “Say something.”

“I’ve been thinking about it too.  But that’s just because it only happened yesterday.  We’ll get past it soon.  We probably shouldn’t even see each other.”

“We both know that’s not why we’re obsessing over it.”

“I never said I’m obsessing over it.” Ernst could feel Hanschen’s eyes on him, and he raised his head to meet them.

“Nobody’s ever made me feel the way you used to make me feel.”

“Melchior’s never given you an orgasm?” Ernst deadpanned, remembering how Hanschen used to curl his fingers into Ernst’s hair and tug just a little when he came.  The sounds he used to make.

Hanschen laughed uncomfortably.  “That’s not what I mean.  It was always more with you.  You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Ernst knew.  “That was love, Hanschen.”

“Yeah.  Maybe that’s it.”

Daisy returned with the ball then, dropping it at Ernst’s shoes.  He and Hanschen both looked down at it.  Ernst didn’t know what to say.  Should he bring up the fact that it was concerning that Hanschen didn’t feel like he was in love with Melchior?  That maybe it meant something?  “I should go,” Ernst decided.  “Bye.”

Ernst walked away, pulling out his headphones and untangling the cord before sticking them back in his ears, and Hanschen had to grab Daisy’s leash to keep her from chasing after him.

“Me too,” he said softly to the dog, who was straining against his grip, before squatting down to grab her ball and sticking it in his pocket.  “So what are we going to do about it?”

He took Daisy home and dropped her off with a kiss on the head, and she watched him leave with her tail wagging.  He walked back home slowly, not eager to see the fucking lamp on his nightstand.  It was his last day home alone until Melchior came back, and he didn’t know what to think.  He was so conflicted.  He hadn’t thought about Ernst in a long time, so when Melchior got down on one knee yes had seemed like the only logical answer.  They’d get married and get promotions and eventually adopt a kid or two, maybe move out of the city when the time was right.  Running into Ernst had ruined everything.

He’d gotten drunk to try to stop thinking about the times he and Ernst had stayed up all night talking about their feelings, or when they went to museums for entire days, or decided to eat nutella and peanut butter out of the jars for dinner.  Melchior’s idea of romance was different.  It was expensive dinners, and trips to the theatre, and fancy new ties.  Not that Hanschen didn’t appreciate all those things.  He loved Melchior’s maturity and intelligence and pensiveness, not to mention how often he was willing to take Hanschen to bed.  And they’d grown up similarly, intelligent kids born into relative wealth, able to get their way most of the time.  He’d been perfectly happy in their relationship for two years.

Until Ernst came along.  Because he’d been perfectly happy with Ernst for four years, until Melchior came along.

Hanschen wanted to hit his head against a wall.  Maybe today he’d actually break a lamp in frustration.

He spent a few hours restlessly travelling from room to room, picking things up and putting them down.  He should probably have gone into work, but he didn’t feel like explaining to anyone why he seemed so down in the dumps.  Maybe he should just find a nice girl and settle down like his family always wanted.  Call up his old friend Anna and see if she was still single, make both of their bi-phobic parents happy with one wedding.

He tried to read, to clean, to watch tv, but everything just made him feel crazy.  The pictures of him and Melchior scattered around the apartment felt suffocating, like Melchior was watching him no matter where he went.  Judging him.  Shaming him, which was weird because Melchior thought shame was stupid.  He zipped on his coat and left, not knowing where he intended to go.

He walked without thinking, letting the breeze make him feel more like a person and less like a useless lump who called off work because of boy troubles.  At one point his mom texted him to ask a question about wedding cake, but he ignored her.  One foot in front of the other.

He eventually found himself at Sugar Sweet.  He could see Wendla inside with a tiny bit of flour on her nose.  There were only a few customers, so he decided to go in.

“Ernst isn’t here,” she told him before he could say anything.

“Um, I know.”

“I heard what happened between the two of you,” she said harshly.

“You did?” Hanschen could feel himself blushing.

“That was really uncool of you.”

“I know.  I shouldn’t have done it.  I just… I couldn’t not do it.  That’s not an excuse, I know that, but… It’s hard to explain.”

“It seems perfectly simple to me.”

“Is that so?”

“You’re still in love with him.”

“What?” Hanschen spluttered.  “I’m not- I mean, I can’t believe you’d- I don’t…”

“Look, I don’t know you as well as I know Ernst.  And I certainly don’t know the new ‘getting-married-to-Melchior' you.  But I knew you both as a couple, and I know that you tried to get in his pants last night even though you haven’t seen him in two years.”  Hanschen didn’t answer.  “I also know that there are customers behind you and I make my living off selling pastries, not giving relationship advice.”

“Sorry.  Shit, um, can I get two chocolate croissants please?  To go.”

Wendla raised her eyebrows at him, but packaged up his baked goods and accepted his money.

“Also,” Hanschen added.  “Could you maybe write down where Ernst lives?”

Wendla obliged, scribbling the address on a napkin and sticking it in his bag.  He grinned at her, grabbing the handles.

“Thanks, Wendla.”

“Good luck!” she called after him, watching him walk hurriedly out of the bakery and turning to the next customer with a chuckle.

Hanschen pulled out the napkin and typed Ernst’s address into Google Maps on his phone.  It was only a ten minute walk from the bakery, which felt far too short.  His heart was pounding, he needed time to plan what he was going to say.  He couldn’t imagine Ernst was going to be happy to see him, how was he supposed to stop the guy from turning him away at the door?  Assuming he was even home.  Oh god, he really should have thought this through.  He considered calling Ernst before he got there, but decided the element of surprise was the best way to go.  If there was any way to go that wasn’t horrible.

Meanwhile, Ernst was staring sadly at his canvas.  After returning home from the park, he’d painted what was perhaps the best piece he’d ever done, but it was all about Hanschen and he’d sooner die than show it in public.  He only had a month until the gallery wanted to see his potential pieces, and he had absolutely nothing.  All his thoughts were just Hanschen, Hanschen, Hanschen.  He almost wished they’d fucked last night so he could get it out of his system and paint about something else.   _Anything_ else.  He left the painting in the living room when he went into the kitchen to wash his brushes.  While his hands were covered in suds, his intercom beeped.  He used his elbow to buzz whoever it was in without asking for identification, not yet ready to dry off his hands and brushes.  It was probably one of his friends responding to his earlier pleas for company.  Maybe Martha had finished her paper early and was coming to save him.  He returned to the sink, scrubbing the red out of brush bristles with concentration.

“Come in!” he called when someone knocked.  He heard the squeaking of the door opening and then clicking shut, and it crossed his mind that he should maybe find out who was in his home.  He dried his hands quickly and left the kitchen to find Hanschen, standing in Ernst’s living room and staring at a painting of himself.

“I can explain,” Ernst tried, but then Hanschen was dropping a paper bag on the floor and rushing to him.  And then they were kissing.

Ernst breathed Hanschen in, yanked off his coat and threw it on the floor, wrapped his arms around him, pushed him against the back of the door, and kissed the shit out of him.  If this is what it took to make good art, he’d do it.  Screw Melchior Gabor.  Hanschen tried to say something, but Ernst stopped him.  He just kept kissing and kissing, so hard that Hanschen was afraid he’d bruise his lips, but he didn’t care.  He shoved his fingers into Ernst’s hair and held on, let his tongue slide behind his teeth, moved their lower halves closer together.

God, Hanschen was hard.  Ernst could feel it against his leg, could feel every inch of the man he hadn’t felt for years.  He moaned into the kiss and Hanschen squeezed even closer, and then Ernst was hard too.  He pulled his mouth away and Hanschen actually whimpered, eyes still closed.

Ernst was proud that he managed to grab Hanschen’s hand and lead him into the bedroom instead of fucking him right there on the welcome mat.  He pushed the blonde down onto his bed and couldn’t help but observe how gorgeous he looked against the blue comforter.  Like he was meant to lay in this bed.

But his admiration was short lived, because Hanschen was pulling him down to kiss him again, to nibble on his bottom lip and lick across his jaw.  Ernst was panting, and he was so turned on it was starting to hurt.  Hanschen, always attuned to his needs, even now, slid a hand between his thighs, grabbing at his bulge.  Ernst moaned, pulling away just long enough to unzip his hoodie and push it off, kicking off his shoes at the same time.  Hanschen took his shoes off too, and his sweater, which left him lying beneath Ernst in just his jeans.  Ernst straddled him and leaned down, skipping his mouth in favor of planting kisses down his neck and chest, working one perfect nipple gently between his teeth.  Hanschen made all the perfect sounds, and his body felt perfect under Ernst’s.

Ernst moved his mouth lower and lower, kissing down Hanschen’s toned stomach and then stopping right above his jeans.  He didn’t even have to say anything, he just looked up at Hanschen with a gleam in his eye.  Hanschen understood, and he unbuttoned his jeans, yanking them off sloppily.  Ernst blocked Hanschen’s hands from returning to his waist, replacing them with his own and pulling Hanschen’s underwear off slowly, teasing him.  When the blonde was completely naked, Ernst took a second to look at him.  His body was different but his dick wasn’t, still smooth and long and beautiful, just like Ernst remembered it. Better even.  Seeing it felt just like seeing it for the first time six years ago, he was just as nervous and unsure and excited.  But it all came back to him when he leaned down towards it, when he took Hanschen into his mouth and sucked.

He knew just what to do.  In fact, he couldn’t forget it if he tried.  This had been coming back to him in dreams since the last time it happened.  Night after night he found himself making Hanschen squirm and try to buck his hips.  He used his paint stained fingers to push his ex’s hips down onto the bed, to keep himself from choking.  He pulled off only to lick from the bottom up, to take the shaft into his mouth once again, the whole thing this time.  Hanschen couldn’t remember Melchior’s mouth ever feeling this good.  He couldn’t remember anything ever feeling this good in the history of his existence.  Probably in all of mankind’s existence.

“Ernst,” he moaned, too close to orgasm to allow him to continue, and Ernst pulled off.  The sound of his name coming from Hanschen’s mouth was heaven.  He climbed back up Hanschen’s body, smashing their lips together once more.  Hanschen worked blindly at his pants while they kissed, and Ernst stopped long enough to pull off both his jeans and his t-shirt.  This left them both nude, nothing between their erections.

Ernst was suddenly incredibly fucking grateful Wendla had bought him condoms a few months ago as a not so subtle hint that he needed to get laid and stop annoying her all the time.  It was awkward at the time, and they hadn’t changed anything, but now it meant he could lean across Hanschen’s body and pull one out of his nightstand, along with a bottle of lube, and make it seem like he’d been at least a little sexually active since they broke up.  He tried not to think about being broken up.

“I need you,” Hanschen groaned, the first full sentence he’d managed since showing up in Ernst’s living room.

Ernst was happy to oblige.  He struggled to rip open the wrapper, hands shaking a little with anticipation, but then he got it and he was pulling out the condom and sliding it on, eyes closing at the feeling of his own hand on his cock, being touched for the first time since Hanschen had gripped it through his jeans.  But there was a far better option waiting for him.  He popped the top of the lube and squirted some onto his fingers, pressing them into Hanschen slowly.

“You don’t have to do that,” Hanschen panted.

“Are you sure?” Ernst didn’t mind starting as soon as he could, but he also didn’t want to hurt Hanschen.

“Just fuck me,” Hanschen begged, yanking Ernst into a deep kiss, their tongues swirling together.  Ernst felt a fire start in his stomach, and he pulled Hanschen’s legs up, hooking them over his shoulders just like he used to.  He remembered how surprised he’d been when Hanschen had first asked him to fuck him.  He’d assumed Hanschen would want to top, he was always the dominant one in every situation, always wanted to take control.  But it made sense when Hanschen rode him, when he managed to take control and still get his prostate hit, when he controlled the pace and the position.  Even when Ernst was on top, Hanschen managed to be in charge, always getting his way.

And Ernst was in no place to complain when he was deep inside of the most gorgeous man alive.  So it was a win-win.

He slid in slowly, wanting to cherish every second.  The first time they slept together for the last time, he didn’t realize it was an ending.  This time he’d be damned if he didn’t appreciate every moment.  But then Hanschen bucked up underneath him, pushing him further inside, and Ernst couldn’t resist.  He moved his hips rapidly, thrusting in and out of Hanschen, who was moaning and kissing him like his fucking life depended on it.

The fire in Ernst’s stomach was spreading, coating his entire body in sweet flames and devouring him alive.  He couldn’t think of a better way to go than like this.  Forehead pressed against Hanschen’s, hands clasped together on the pillow, breathing in sync as they rolled their hips together.  He knew exactly what angle to hit at to make Hanschen cry out in pleasure, and he hit it again and again, feeling shudders go through the man beneath him.

Hanschen let go of Ernst’s hand to dig his fingers into his dark hair, and Ernst knew exactly what that meant.  He fucked harder, faster, relentlessly.  He wanted to hear Hanschen scream.  He wanted his name to come out of those gorgeous lips one last time.

And he got his wish when he wrapped his hand around Hanschen’s length and stroked in time to his thrusts.

“Fuck!  Ernst!  Oh god… Just like that...”

Ernst kept going, letting Hanschen spill out into his hand.  To his delight, Hanschen brought one of Ernst’s fingers to his mouth and sucked, which was enough to push him over the edge.  He came inside Hanschen with sharp thrusts, before finally stilling.  He pulled out slowly and Hanschen felt a shocking loss at the absence.  Ernst pulled off the condom and tossed it on the floor, collapsing next to Hanschen, who rolled onto his side so they could kiss, soft and sloppy.

“Ernst…”

Ernst sighed.  Just because Hanschen had shut up while he’d been inside him didn’t mean he’d never want to talk about it.  He just hoped it wouldn’t have been so soon.  Couldn’t they just bask in post-coital endorphins for a second before Hanschen told him it could never happen again?  He made a humming sound to acknowledge Hanschen.

“That was amazing.”  Ernst grinned.  “I forgot what that feels like.”

“Do you… do you fuck Melchior?” Ernst asked.

Hanschen laughed.  “Ernst Robel, watch your language.”  Ernst looked down at their naked bodies and laughed too.  Hanschen shook his head before he answered.  “Sometimes I do.  Sometimes he fucks me, but not like that.  It’s… I don’t know.  Slow, usually.  Different.”

“Well, we have had more practice.”

“It’s so weird to think about like that.”

“Do you not usually think about it?”

“Honestly?  No.”

“None of it?  None of us?”

“Do we have to talk about this right now?”

Yes.  “No.  Sorry.”

Hanschen kissed Ernst’s neck and then pulled the taller boy closer, rolling over and curling up so Ernst was spooning him.  “Let’s just lay here, okay?  Let’s just pretend.”

Ernst wanted to ask what they were pretending, but he was scared.  “Okay,” he said.

They fell asleep like that- nude, pressed together in Ernst’s bed.

Hanschen woke up first in the morning.  He pulled on his underwear and jeans and found a shirt in Ernst’s dresser.  He tiptoed out of the bedroom, trying not to look at Ernst sleeping like an angel with his dark hair all messy, and found the Sugar Sweet bag he’d dropped in the living room the night before.  He stuck the croissants in the toaster oven and turned on the coffee machine.  He tried not to freak out.

Ernst woke up when he smelled the coffee brewing.  He put on a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt, neglecting pants.  After he brushed his teeth, he gave himself a pep talk in the mirror.  He was not going to cry when Hanschen told him it was a one time thing.  He was going to be okay.

Hanschen was waiting for him in the kitchen with the flaky pastries and a steaming mug of coffee.

“You went out?” Ernst asked, noticing the breakfast.

“They’re from last night.  They were supposed to be a peace offering.”

“Well,” Ernst laughed, “nothing says ‘let’s be friends’ like some makeup sex and my favorite food.”

Hanschen hung his head and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.  Ernst wanted to kiss him.  “Well, I only planned the food part.”

“I don’t know if that would have done it on it’s own.”

“Well then it’s a good thing we fucked.”

“I guess it is.”

“Does that mean we should be friends?”

“Do you want to be friends?”

“Maybe for now.”

“How long is now?” Ernst asked.

“I think I have to end things with Melchior.”

It wasn’t really an answer, but Ernst thought he understood.  “Do you want to… like… be together again?”

“I think so.  Eventually.” His voice was so soft Ernst had to strain to hear it.  “Do you want that?”

“Yeah,” Ernst breathed.  “I do.”

Hanschen stepped closer to Ernst but stopped himself before they touched.  “Melchior is coming back to the city today.  I don’t… I don’t know how to tell him.  I told him I’d marry him.  How awful am I for changing my mind?”

“I’m a little too biased to answer that.”

Hanschen took the final step forward and kissed Ernst.

“Where am I going to live?” he asked when he pulled away.  “It’s Melchi’s place.”

Ernst wasn’t sure if he was supposed to offer what he did.  “You can stay with me.”

“I don’t know if-”

“Just until you find your own place!  It’s November, I’m not going to let you freeze all winter.”

“Then we're actually doing this?”

Ernst grabbed Hanschen’s hands. “I think we are.  If you think you're ready to commit. Because not to make it dark, but I can't handle losing you again.  So if you want to be with me, you have to _be with_ me.”

Hanschen smiled at Ernst, who still hadn't brushed his hair and looked more gorgeous than anyone had ever looked.  “I want to be with you.”  He a hand through Ernst’s hair and kissed him.  And then he noticed the clock.

“Shit,” he muttered.  “Melchior’s plane is landing, I have to go.”  Ernst's face fell, and Hanschen kissed him again.  “I'll come back, okay? I want you. Just give me a little while.  Let me talk to Melchior, I owe him that.”  With one last peck to the lips he was off, grabbing his coat from the floor and leaving, still wearing Ernst's shirt.

Ernst stood alone in his kitchen in complete shock, with two untouched chocolate croissants on the counter and absolutely no idea what was going to happen.

 

***

 

Five months later, Hanschen looked at himself in the mirror and adjusted his tie. He looked stupid, like a monkey in a tux.  Thea smacked his hand away.

“Stop fussing!” she commanded.  “He already loves you.”

“But everyone is here,” Hanschen groaned.

“And whose fault is that? You're the one who wanted to show off with a fancy wedding.  He would have been fine with a few rings and a bottle of champagne.”

“It just needs to be perfect.”

“And it will be. That's my cue music.  I'm gonna go, and if you don't meet him up there at exactly the right moment you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

“Point taken,” Hanschen laughed, watching his sister leave.

He adjusted his tie one more time before taking a deep breath and getting situated at the beginning of the left aisle.  He couldn't see his groom yet, he could only hope the man was actually standing there, ready and willing to do this.

The music started, and Hanschen could see Thea and Otto grinning at him from the left side of the altar.  He took a step.  A few people whistled.  Ilse maybe? Anna? He wasn't sure.  He wanted to close his eyes, but he was afraid he'd trip and fall.  His heart was pounding in his chest, and he realized how nervous he was.  He was doing the right thing, right?

All his stupid fears went away when he saw him. Looking like a goddamned angel all dressed up, his pace matched perfectly with Hanschen’s from the other aisle.  Hanschen silently cursed the rows of seats between them that kept their lips apart.

They grabbed each other's hands as soon as they were within reach, climbing the few steps up to the altar together.  Hanschen felt himself tearing up, but be wouldn't let himself cry, at least not yet. They hadn't even exchanged their vows yet, for Christ's sake.  This whole thing had changed him.

He looked out at all of the people who had come to support them. His parents, who had given up on the idea of Hanschen having a wife and agreed to pay for the whole wedding. Wendla, who had spent endless hours on the truly spectacular cake.  All their friends, holding cameras and tissues and each other's hands.  Melchior in the back with his new boyfriend Moritz.

Ernst squeezed Hanschen's hands, and Hanschen turned back to look at him. How could he have ever doubted this?  He was exactly where he was supposed to be, with exactly the right person.

Ernst's mother, who'd insisted on officiating the ceremony herself, started to cry while she spoke, which sent Ernst over the edge too.  Hanschen loosened one shaking hand to wipe the tears from his husband-to-be’s face.  Ernst kissed his palm.

They exchanged their vows, words that neither of them realized they'd both written years earlier and kept around in secret, just in case.

Hanschen held his breath until Ernst said “I do,” and then he said it back. It all felt like a fairy tale, like a happy ending that he was finally getting after years of turmoil and hurting.

When they finally kissed, Hanschen didn't even need to wonder which of their friends were whistling- it was everybody.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest thing I've ever written, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear from you. Hmu here or at springbroadway.tumblr.com <3


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